When They Ask You Why
by HedwigBlack
Summary: "...what will you tell them? That you love him and he loves you? It is the truth, after all but... it doesn't encompass everything that is the two of you. Albus and Scorpius." / For BlueEyes444


_For BlueEyes444 who will hopefully forgive me for this being so late. Yay for more AlScor :D_

_Also, thank you to my wifey Paula for beta-ing and making this not suck. ily._

* * *

You sit at the dining room table and look around at your family. All of them. Loving parents chattering about their days at the office, two siblings bickering over something trivial, and you, the notoriously typical middle child. You never noticed before, but you really are that picture perfect family people read about, that people_ have_ read about. At least, from the outside looking in. And you have this feeling that one of these days, you are going to fuck it all up.

One of these days you will explode and you will tell them everything. You won't be able to contain yourself. Already, you can feel the words straining against your voice box begging for release.

Your mother will turn to you, oblivious to your inner conflict, and ask you how your term went at school. Everyone will look at you expectantly, and for once, you will tell them the truth.

But when you finally get up the nerve, what will you say? When they ask you why, what will you tell them? That you love him and he loves you? It _is_ the truth after all, but it's not the whole truth. It doesn't encompass everything that is the two of you. Albus and Scorpius.

How will you explain to them that this is not some phase you'll grow out of? How will you tell them that this is not some spiteful act of teenage rebellion? That Scorpius is more than his family's name? Because he's more than that Malfoy boy your uncle Ron warned you about. So much more.

Maybe you will tell them about his fears. That he lives life at arm's length, keeping everything you hold dear at a distance. He's all bare feet and soft spoken endearments, fingertips brushing your shoulder as you pass each other on the way out of the Slytherin common room. He's quiet and out of the way and always trying to make himself invisible. Because he's a Malfoy and he has too many reputations to contradict.

You will explain that at first, you thought he was cold. Bitter and frigid and unyielding. But now you know you were wrong. Now you know he was just being careful, walking on eggshells, meticulously calculating his footsteps. And that is no way for a boy to love another boy and for some reason, you were determined to show him how.

He's the kind of boy who apologizes when he doesn't know what he's supposed to be sorry for. He stutters when you ask too many questions. He thinks too hard and measures his words as if they were a matter of life and death. Words like 'forever' and 'always' linger unspoken between you because, apparently, he _never_ makes promises he can't keep. You will tell them that, even so, it seems he never knows when to shut up or when to speak up so one day, you finally kissed him to render words unnecessary. And you both found it to be quite effective.

You will tell them about the time he got irrationally angry when he caught you staring. You didn't understand at first but then you realized he thought you were looking for flaws, for something wrong with him, for a reason to leave.

He's a boy who was never told 'I love you' growing up. His father didn't know how and his mother couldn't take it so she left. And the first time you said it to him, he cried, but you pretended not to notice because you've been told that's the noble thing to do. So instead, you held him close, pressed your lips against the hollow of his throat and said it again. Louder. And then you prayed his heart was listening.

Some days you still do.

Perhaps you will finally toss all your inhibitions aside and tell them of the countless nights spent on the ledge of the Astronomy tower, feet dangling, fingers entwined. How neither of you could remember what you'd learned in class so you made up your own constellations, giving them names even more ridiculous than _Scorpius_ or _Hyperion_ or _Albus_, and spending hours connecting dots and losing count. And losing track of time.

How you don't remember how many flasks of firewhiskey you drained, but you sure as hell recall the night you lost your innocence against the tower wall.

How the only stories you have worth telling begin with "Scorpius and I…"

Or maybe… maybe you won't.

Maybe you will look around the table, and play your part during this typical 'perfect' family dinner.

Maybe you will just shrug your shoulders and say your term was 'fine' and then make some cliché comment about the weather and whether tomorrow will be a good day for Quidditch.

And you won't shatter the illusion that all is well. And you'll pretend that keeping up appearances has never been so difficult, that all you want to do is memorize the proud look on your parents' faces. That the time bomb inside your chest isn't ticking down the seconds.

Maybe you'll save them the trouble of trying to understand this mess that Scorpius has made of you.

Maybe one of these days you will leave without a word.


End file.
